Brink
by Loryn Wilde
Summary: When Master and Apprentice are on a mission to a planet where communication is as rare as the people's good temper, they can only rely on each other. But when one begins to question the other's sanity, who can they turn to for help?
1. Default Chapter

**Brink  
loryn wilde  
****Rating: PG-13  
****Summary: When Master and Apprentice are on a mission to a planet where communication is as rare as the people's good temper, they can only rely on each other. But when one begins to question the other's sanity, who can they turn to for help?**

**Dedication: !Spyre! 'Cause I'm so incredibly _fond of you. Plus, you're my own personal 'inspyration'. ;oP_**

"The truth is rarely pure and never simple."

 – Oscar Wilde  
  
  
Obi-Wan had not slept in days and knew he would have to do something about his near debilitating weariness before someone decided to notice. It was probably only a matter of time before one of the delegates or even his master commented on his unusually frequent 'woolgathering', as Master Yoda referred to any drifting of the mind that was not meditation oriented.  
  
Already there were dark smudges creasing his skin and cupping worn gray eyes. One had only to look closer to find the fatigue pooling in those same eyes, rapidly overcoming any resistance he might have had, any will to cling to the wakeful realm. Lethargy was taking hold, exhaustion seeping into the very marrow of his bones, adding a slight drag to his step.  
  
He had told Qui-Gon he was going for a long walk, and would return by nightfall. The master had dismissed him without so much as a second glance, showing no sign of the darkness that Obi-Wan knew crept into his bright soul nightly. The Padawan rubbed a hand over his face as if to briefly massage life back into the pinched features. Even his braid hung limply over his right shoulder when he pulled it out from underneath his collar, where he had hidden it to go into the small medicinal shop behind him.  
  
It was difficult for Darcites to tell basic humans apart from one another, but the braid was a glaring symbol of who and what he was. He had left his robe behind to evade further recognition. To a planet that had a strong reluctance to trust outsiders, an ambassadorial Jedi Padawan purchasing energy pills - no matter how herbal focused - would certainly not go over well with the public.  
  
The seventeen-year old glanced down at the small bottle in his hand before tucking it safely into his tunic. A chilling breeze cut through him, reminding the youth that the evening was fast approaching, shading the purple skies a passionately violet hue. Worry tugged at his heart as he set off to their temporary quarters. Would tonight be any better? It seemed as though Qui-Gon got worse each time the suns set.  
  
Obi-Wan decided he would excuse himself from dinner, claim he was tired, and close himself up in the private room he had been given. Not a lie, he was careful to note. He had never felt more tired than he did then, never more weighted or torn with decisions he alone could make.  
  
The gothic steeples of their hostel rose over the horizon, and the Padawan's stomach twisted tightly into knots. He snagged his lower lip between his teeth and his brow creased in anguish. Had he ever felt _afraid of his master before? Had any Padawan? It felt horrifically wrong to him. Everything about this mission had felt wrong from the very start. Qui-Gon had simply told him not to focus so much on negative feelings.  
  
"You are entirely too pessimistic, Padawan," he had grinned, clapping the young man on the back before urging him onto the transport. His master had been in an incredibly good mood, they had just returned from sabbatical and the older man definitely had a new bounce in his step.  
  
At the light chiding Obi-Wan had recalled how tired Qui-Gon was before their rest, and, wanting to keep this joyful manner in tact as long as possible, had agreed to not be such a "stick in the proverbial mud."  
  
At the looming gates of their hostel, the Padawan could already feel stirrings of the darkness that tainted their rooms at night. Inside, stepping onto the lift, he hung back in his movements, lingering in the halls, stopping to study a painting when he came across one. On their floor he resorted to a slow plodding. A Darcite briskly passed him, frowning at the apprentice's childish movements. Obi-Wan reddened faintly but was already at his door. He could just hear Qui-Gon on the other side.  
  
With a sigh, he palmed the latch and stepped into their rooms.  
  
"Obi-Wan! I was wondering if I was going to have to go out and look for you." His master threw the young man a broad grin as he eased into a padded chair at the eating table. "I do believe the senator is trying to spoil us," he said dryly, and waved one huge hand over the food, "Steamed vegetables, steamed dumplings, and, ah - heaps of steamed rice."  
  
Obi-Wan's resolve cracked at the wry grin on his master's face, the arched brow. He couldn't help himself:  
  
"For a people so fixed on change, they certainly don't find much versatility in their day-to-day activities, Master."  
  
Qui-Gon's rumbling laughter only served to further tighten the knots in Obi-Wan's stomach. Why couldn't he stay like this always…?  
  
"Sit down, Obi-Wan. The dumplings smell delicious, anyway."  
  
Oh, Force, but this was hard.  
  
"Actually, Master - " Obi-Wan somehow kept his voice from cracking, "I'm feeling tired. I might just go to bed now."  
  
Qui-Gon's brow furrowed. "I would think you'd be famished, Padawan," he said, frowning slightly. "You didn't eat when you went out, did you?"  
  
"No, Master." A pause. "I'm just very tired."  
  
Finally the big man shrugged. "At least take a dumpling so I'll know you won't starve during the night. Besides, it might whet your appetite."  
  
Obi-Wan's eyes turned stormy as they settled on the food at the table. The dumplings looked delicious - hot, plump little things, glistening in the ceiling panel's lights. Their wraps were gray, pulled tautly over bits of meat and vegetable, coated in sauce. He didn't know what kind…  
  
The Padawan's gaze flitted upward to meet his master's briefly, and in that second a million thoughts raced through his weary mind.  
  
Qui-Gon was trying to poison him. Why else would the man be so determined that he eat something? He was seventeen, for Force's sake, if he did not feel like eating he should not have to.  
  
The darkness had set in early this night. Obi-Wan had not felt it and cursed himself for the oversight. Would it come even earlier tomorrow? Would Qui-Gon finally catch him off his guard and do something horrible? Would he make it back to Coruscant from this mission alive? Would Qui-Gon even know what he had done?  
  
"Obi-Wan?"  
  
"Yes, Master!" The Padawan ripped his gaze away and lunged forward suddenly, grabbing a dumpling. It was hot in his hand but he paid it no notice. Turning away he called, "Goodnight, Master," and hurried down the hall, leaving Qui-Gon alone at the table.  
  
Before disappearing in his room he made a quick detour to the 'fresher, where he got rid of the dumpling and stuck his hand under the sink's faucet, turning the knobs to full spray, as hot as he could get it. He scrubbed vigorously with soap, trembling with the knowledge of how close he might have just come to his own death.  
  
_

*  *  *  *

Obi-Wan lay flat on his back on the sleep couch, his eyes wide and staring into the darkness. He felt incredibly restless but forced himself to stay as still as possible, straining his ears to listen to the sounds his master made outside.

His stomach rumbled noisily and he blanched, clamping a firm hand over his mouth lest his body betray him in some other manner as well.

What was his master doing out there? It sounded as if he had been cleaning – putting dishes away in the trolley for housekeeping, but now he was all but silent. Obi-Wan could sense his presence only just, but did not dare to keep closer tabs on him by way of their bond. Qui-Gon would definitely feel it – then he would know. He would know that Obi-Wan knew and then he would come in here and do something awful – 

The Padawan shuddered under the blankets. They were hot – much too hot – and clung to his body as he perspired but he did not remove them. He clutched them tighter and latched his eyes onto the spot where he knew the door to be. If it opened, he would hear it but did not trust himself in this state to be as attentive as normal.

Footsteps sounded in the hall outside… Obi-Wan quieted the roar of blood in his straining ears to listen. Of course they were Qui-Gon's, but where was his master going?

To bed, surely. Please go to bed, _please…_

As they passed his room Obi-Wan reeled his presence in tightly, securing it behind wall after wall of mental durasteel, praying to the very core of the Force that his master would continue on into the private room he had been assigned, oh please, oh please, oh please…

The soft click of a manual door being opened, shut, and the Padawan nearly wept in relief. He stayed rigid in his bed for another twenty minutes, carefully monitoring the sounds of the generous quarters, and only then, after he was sure that his master was in for the night, did he flip the blankets back and roll out of bed. He grabbed a sheet and crept across the floor, stuffing it against the crack at the bottom of the door and palming the light switch. Satisfied that no glow would be noticed in the hall if his master _did wake in the middle of the night – he picked a reader up off the desk and went back to bed, sitting on it with his back pressed to the wall._

He scratched a bite he had gotten at some point during this miserable trip, conveniently placed at some embarrassing spot on his hip, and logged on to the region's network. He checked the interplanetary communication's status first and scowled – still down – before loading up a novel he had found in a drawer.

He glanced up at the sheet under the door – no harm in being sure – and focused his attention on the screen that glowed softly up at him. A quick but determined breath, he wriggled a little before falling still again and stared with intense concentration at the words.

It was going to be a very long night.

*  *  *  *

Unbetaed and posted on a whim. Thanks for reading, all.


	2. Brink2

Hey! I figured out the problem with my Long Drift story (why it never appeared to have been updated, when it WAS)… and plenty of others. FF.N changed the site so you have to go to the option bar at the top of the page and request to see "Ratings All" because the ones that show up on default are G to PG-13 only. I am so frustrated that they didn't tell anybody!

Brink2

Despite its difficult weather, the looming, thunderous skies of Darcy were actually quite beautiful when one took the time to appreciate them. Huge and threatening with their dark smears of purple and green, a gray mist coated the atmosphere creating thick swirls of hazy colors. Qui-Gon Jinn thought the sight to be quite captivating, though he would be glad when he and his Padawan were finally able to leave the planet. It seemed the entire population of Darcy were doing all they could not to be completely hostile with the Jedi. The master knew it was in their nature to be secretive, even when there was nothing to hide, but found the attitude frustrating to work with.

At the sound of rapid footfall behind him he turned, settling neutrally expectant eyes on his apprentice, who skidded to a halt on the slick marble floor. Obi-Wan Kenobi's face was flushed with his haste and he panted slightly as he apologized with a shallow bow.

"Forgive me, Master. I forgot to bring my notes and then the lift was full. I hope we're not late?" He held out two data pads, one for Qui-Gon and one for himself. The elder Jedi accepted one with a curt nod. "All's well, Obi-Wan. We're not late. The minister hasn't even arrived, yet." He gazed at the boy silently, a soft frown creasing his features as he reached out to fix the chestnut brown hood that had snagged over one shoulder. Obi-Wan froze at the touch, and then stepped away, adjusting the cloth himself.

"Thank you, Master," he murmured with a sniff, and Qui-Gon was left wondering if perhaps letting the Padawan out last night had not been a good idea. The boy looked rather drawn this morning.

"Are you tired, Obi-Wan?" he asked, turning back to face the window. Lightning flickered gently on the horizon.

His apprentice looked at him sharply, his reflection in the glass panels clear. "No, Master. I went to bed early last night – I'm very well rested."

"Of course you are," Qui-Gon replied softly, meaning to bring the subject up later. For now, though, they had to deal with the minister. The Jedi could sense the man's hustled approach. "We'll talk later, Obi-Wan," he murmured, turning. "Good morning, Minister."

*  *  *  *

Obi-Wan remained, as always, a respectful two steps behind his master and found himself thanking the ancient tradition. This way he could watch the man's back; nothing would surprise him. But he had to wonder what his master meant when he promised a talk later that day. Did his master suspect something? Did he _know? The flutter of worry in the pit of his stomach grew into a weight of leaden anxiety that sunk to the cradle of his hipbones.__ He had to get in touch with the temple._

Seven energy pills were gone. Obi-Wan had taken two after his master went to bed, and then caught himself dozing. In a panic he downed three more and was up for the rest of the night – wired, as Bant would have said. And then this morning before leaving their quarters he had swallowed another two, but the exhaustion was creeping up on him anyway, if not completely physically, mentally. His mind was a frazzled buzz – no sleep in… four days, now? He could feel it behind his eyes, making them heavy and sluggish in his head, lingering too long wherever he set them. He kept his gaze fixated on Qui-Gon's back, though, the strong and broad shoulders beneath the heavy brown cloak moved fluidly as the older man kept pace with the Darcite at his side. They both spoke clearly enough that Obi-Wan could hear, but he was not listening. He couldn't spare the mental energy for it. Who knew when Qui-Gon might snap? Obi-Wan had to be alert at all times. There could be no room for mistakes.

His feet dragged, his boots just scuffing the floor with every step. He noticed a Darcite beside him continued to send him curious glances and he straightened in response. He tucked his hands into the sleeves of his robe and perfected his slouching posture. Stepping into the conference chambers he resigned himself to another day of this nightmare.

*  *  *  *

Qui-Gon was…

What was Qui-Gon doing?

He was sitting at the computer terminal, speaking quietly, but the lines were still down. Obi-Wan's stomach churned as he watched the one sided transaction. What was his master saying?

"…oh, no. Don't bother with that. I'll come by and pick them up myself. Yes."

Obi-Wan strained his ears but could not make out a response. It was impossible that his master had reached someone, with the weather situation the way it was.

The Padawan's eyes burned, felt dry as parchment. He needed sleep. Turning back around the corner he reached into his tunic and pulled the bottle of energy pills out of an inner pocket. With slow, fumbling hands he popped off the lid and downed three. Only a few left. He'd have to go back the next day for more. While studying that evening he had made the error of falling asleep and been stirred by a hand at his shoulder.

"Obi-Wan?"

He had jerked awake at the sound of that voice, head flying up and back straightening to a stiff rod. A hand had clamped down on his shoulder and his muscles went rigid. It was dark outside.

"Obi-Wan." A soft chuckle and Qui-Gon stepped around him, settling into the chair opposite his own at the table. "Why don't you go to bed, Padawan. You've seemed distant today. Are you having trouble sleeping?"

A hard swallow and Obi-Wan had replied steadily, "No, Master."

Having trouble staying awake was more like it.

Qui-Gon had frowned some at the clipped reply, a flicker of curiosity in the pale blue of his eyes; but Obi-Wan shot from his seat before the conversation could go any further, suddenly changing his mind. Gathering his data pads and notes he decided that a long night's rest had never hurt anybody, and bid the man good-night.

And now his master was _talking to himself…_

Checking his mental shielding once more he moved away, slipping silently back into his room. He had to consider just what it was his master thought he was retrieving.

*  *  *  *

Obi-Wan pushed through the crowds as politely as his haste would let him, murmuring quick apologies when he felt he may have stepped on someone or bumped too harshly. He nearly bowled over an older Darcite exiting a small shop, who stumbled back in shock.

"Pardon me!" Obi-Wan called over his shoulder with a wince. If any of the masters could see him now – he was sure he would have received more than a few laps around the main gym with a couple crèche children on his back. But if they could see Qui-Gon…

Boots pounding the pavement, he craned his neck to find the public chronometer tolling far above. Its face shone darkly in the night, huge and strangely malicious looking, it was nestled into the top of the government building. He had only a few moments before the public transmission stations would close down. The blasted convention had lasted all day, and of course the storms had chosen to ease up enough for the lines to open.

After receiving more than a few odd looks during the meeting at what must have been odd and sluggish behavior he rushed to the shop he had first purchased the energy pills from as soon as he was able. He had taken four and now felt a little sick but knew he had to stay alert.

Curfew was approaching and he had to hurry. Beads of sweat gathered and rolled down his back in the humid air as he ran, dodging what passerby he could. He glimpsed the stations up ahead and that cheered him a little.

It had taken some doing to let Qui-Gon release him and he had at first been afraid his master would refuse the request as it seemed he wanted to discuss some things. It was obvious he suspected something.

 If only he could reach the temple and let the council know what was happening…

"Excuse me!" The Padawan flew past a woman just stepping out of a terminal. She staggered back a step, shooting him a deathly glare, but he had shut the door and was already requesting an open line from the computer.

"Coruscant," he instructed, "Port number eight five three seven four." He bounced eagerly in the seat, tugging lightly at a bit of stuffing bursting through a broken seam. Almost too late he remembered how he must look, and went about straightening his braid, running fingers through hopelessly short spikes. He calmed his breathing and embraced the relief that warmed him when the face of a fellow Jedi appeared on screen…

And promptly blinked out.

Obi-Wan's jaw dropped and he uttered a soft cry of denial. "No!" He hit the device with the palm of his hand, desperate for the image to return. "Hello? This is Obi-Wan Kenobi, can you hear me? Hello?"

A thumping at the glass door startled him and he turned his shocked gaze to the man standing behind it. The Darcite jerked his thumb and said loud enough for the words to carry through, "Closed. Curfew's up. Go home."

"No. Please…" Obi-Wan shook the door as it stuck in the frame, growling a little until it finally gave. "This is an emergency – "

The man raised a hand to stop him. "Sure, kid. I'll just bet it is. But we're closed. And it is very important to me that you leave – so I can, too." He narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest in a gesture of intimidation. "You get me?"

A heavy sigh, a meek nod, and Obi-Wan rose from the chair, sliding past the man with a muttered, "Of course. Thank you," and he walked on, his pace through the dreary streets back to his hostel considerably slower than the one with which he had left it.


End file.
